This is the End
by sazza-da-vampire
Summary: Family Matters. Mirkwood, 3018; Gollum is rescued by orcs from the wood-elves. The guards are slain or taken. Those who followed never found the last body; only traces of blood, and torn clothing. How much suffering and hate can an Elf survive when pushed to the breaking point? Rated M, contains mentions of rape, graphic and/or disturbing material, torture and OC death.


Disclaimer: I own nothing recognisable

This is the End

Family Matters. Mirkwood, 3018; Gollum is rescued by orcs from the wood-elves. The guards are slain or taken. Those who followed never found the last body; only traces of blood, and torn clothing. How much suffering and hate can an Elf survive when pushed to the breaking point? Rated M.

Prologue

Gollum was a wretched creature. All who guarded him agreed, for the pitiful wails during the long hours of confinement tore at the tender hearts of the Elves.

It was one evening, while the Crown Prince, his bodyguard, and their cousins were enjoying a break between duties, that Legolas had an idea.

"The tree!" he cried, sitting bolt upright. Brethilríl turned his attention from the flowers to his dear friend.

"What about the tree?" Brethildíl asked, rubbing her neck which had been jarred when Legolas jolted, for she had been half-asleep with her head on his shoulder. Her brother cracked a smile when he noticed his sister's discomfort.

"Gollum!" Legolas cried. "We don't have to keep the creature under lock and key. He requires round-the-clock guards. In the dark his mind festers, and he mutters curses at the 'nassty Elveses' as he calls us."

"I'm sorry, Legolas, I don't follow. What does the tree have to do with Gollum?" Aldanna asked, bewildered by her cousin's strange talk.

Legolas stared at them, his oldest, closest friends, disbelieving that not one of them had caught on yet. Tathar, his best friend and loyal bodyguard, stared blankly.

"This tree is isolated. We could let him climb, feel the wind on his face. Gandalf bid us keep him under guard, not under lock and key. We could take him out for an hour each day, to lift his spirits. To reawaken whatever part of Smeagol may still be in him."

Aldanna was the only one not shaking her head. "It could work," she murmured. "I do not think the creature is afraid of the dark, or of small spaces, but it cannot hurt to try."

Those words would haunt her for the rest of her life. _It cannot hurt to try_.

Tuilë

"Tuilë!"

The warrior turned around, a smile gracing her lips as one of the Guards called her name. "That's me," she quipped, stopping to let the guard catch up with her.

"The creature Gollum will not come down from your heart-tree. Could you talk to him, or perhaps ask the tree to make him fall?"

Tuilë chuckled, remembering that this guard was a full blooded Sindarin Elf. He had no heart-tree, for that was a Silvan tradition, and he did not fully understand heart-trees. "A heart-tree does not take orders from the likes of you or me," she said. "But perhaps I can take over the guard until the creature chooses to return. Ask Nar-rhîw, Mallaer, Eleni, Nímlos or Coirëllach to join me, if you can find any of them."

As the Sindarin Elf walked away in search of Tuilë's unit, the tiny warrior visited her quarters, where she collected her favourite weapons. A bow would be counter-productive, she thought, but her slim sword had seen her through much worse than guard duty in her time. Tucking a sharp knife into her boot, and another into her belt, Tuilë decided she was ready for anything Gollum might throw at her on the journey from the tree to the dungeons.

She met Mallaer on the way to the tree, and clapped the young warrior on the back, glad to have some company on this night, which she feared may be long, for the sun was already westering and the shadows lengthening, but Gollum showed no signs of coming down.

Eleni, the Captain of their unit which they called _Northern Excursions_, was already at the tree when Tuilë and Mallaer arrived. The previous guards had already left, and Gollum was so high as to be difficult to see through all the branches. Tuilë greeted her heart-tree with a hand upon its trunk, murmuring sweet words in her native Silvan dialect. The tree warmed her fëa, giving her strength and the distinct impression that it didn't like the creature crawling through its crown.

The hours stretched long into the night, and still Gollum refused to come down. Tuilë had no mind to climb, for she had been present the time young Lothlomë had climbed a similar tree to this one, and the Elvenking had climbed up after his young daughter, only to fall from the narrow branches which could not hold his weight. Tuilë doubted that this tree would let her fall intentionally, but she also knew that Gollum was far too high for her to reach, even as small as she was.

Tuilë chattered idly with Mallaer and Eleni, discussing their families and gossiping about young Nímlos, Eleni's daughter, whom had been courting their companion Coirëllach for half the Third Age. Eleni had given her blessing to Coirëllach to ask her daughter's hand, but Elves do not marry in times of war, and Eleni's husband Cúluial was not so supportive of his daughter's choice of husband.

"One day, Eleni," Mallaer joked. "One day, Coirëllach will act his age and ask your daughter's hand."

"Don't mention his age!" Eleni moaned, bringing her hand up to her forehead. Her companions took their eyes off Gollum for a moment while they laughed at Eleni's predicament. "He's two Ages older than I!"

"Some say he is Lord Celeborn's cousin," Tuilë mused. "I have served with him most of my life and yet never asked."

"Some say our King Thranduil is Celeborn's cousin," Mallaer added.

"Really?" Eleni asked. "That is a new rumour, then, for I have not heard it."

"Everyone born in the mid-Third Age believed it," Mallaer informed her, gazing idly up to add his eyes to Tuilë's on Gollum.

"Nímlos never mentioned it," Eleni answered.

"I never told Nar-rhîw, or our Ada," Mallaer shrugged. "We assumed all knew the rumour."

"I should like to ask Celeborn," Tuilë said, glancing away from Gollum as she spoke. "He seems to be cousins with every Sindar born in the First Age."

It happened very suddenly. The only warning was a great crashing in the woods, and Tuilë drew her sword with a _schnickk_, while her long time companions drew their own beside her.

Suddenly orcs filled the clearing, and the three Elves were fighting, but the dozens of orcs were too many even for the most experienced Elvish warrior to fight alone. Tuilë spun and stabbed, letting loose a war-cry which echoed through the forest, hopefully to be heard as far away as the King's Halls, where most Elves lay in their beds, sound asleep.

It seemed to be over in seconds. Tuilë felt a great blow on the back of her head, right at the base of her skull. Then she felt nothing at all, as her body stopped working, and she fell backwards, knowing only because her point of view was suddenly different, her eyes becoming her only connection to the world.

If she had been able to tell that she wasn't breathing, she might have acted differently. As she was, all she knew was that her world slowly turned to black, and through her dimming sight, she saw many orcs leaving, and carried over their shoulders were the limp forms of Eleni and Mallaer.

_No!_ she tried to yell, but no sound came out. Her heart-tree pressed against her back, reaching tenderly into her fëa to quiet her tumultuous thoughts. As her vision faded to black, her fëa was wrapped in warmth, comfort, and love, as her heart-tree protected her from the pain of despair.

When Tuilë's brain finally used up the last of the oxygen in her bloodstream, the leaves on the heart-tree turned brown, and the heavy flowers fell to the ground, never to bloom again.

A Silvan heart-tree cannot live without its Elf.

Mallaer

Mallaer woke to a world of pain. The first thing he noticed was the sound, of many marching feet, crashing thoughtlessly through his beloved forest.

The next thing he noticed was the smell of death and decay. Rotting flesh and oozing, festering wounds have a distinct smell, one which reviles Elves to their very core.

Through the pain, Mallaer noticed a feeling of pressure, jolting and ever-changing, but somehow also constantly pounding the same parts of his body. He realised that he was being carried, and a large shoulder dug into his stomach painfully.

He waited silently until whoever carried him stopped, dropping him unceremoniously on the ground. An involuntary _oof_ left him as his breath was knocked out of him, but still he waited, until he cracked open his eye, and saw that he was surrounded by orcs.

The world seemed strangely flat, and it took Mallaer a little while to realise that he only had one eye. He did not know what had happened to the other, for his hands were bound, and he could not feel one side of his face. His legs were free, though, and he bided his time, waiting until he had a chance to escape.

That chance came when the orcs were distracted by something – or perhaps someone – on the other side of the clearing they had chosen as a resting place. Mallaer silently rose to his feet, and dashed into the thick foliage to his right.

All seemed to go well for a moment, but his single eye betrayed him, for he fell, turning his ankle on a root. Cursing his ill luck, Mallaer struggled to his feet, but the trees in this part of the forest were not friendly to the Elves, and did not help him in any way.

He gained his footing, hope soaring in his heart as he took a step forward, but his leg would not take his weight, crumbling below him. Pain made him giddy, and he realised that his leg was badly broken. Bone shone starkly in the moonlight, a shard poking straight out of his twisted and ruined shin.

A jeering laughter caught his attention, and all the hope he might have had fled, as a pair of scarred orcs picked him up by the shoulders, dragging his ruined leg painfully along the forest floor.

"Thought you could get away, did ya?" one orcs sneered, bringing Mallaer close so that he was forced to breathe the stench of rotting flesh on the orc's breath. "You won't be running away again. I suppose we didn't need to do anything to the girl to keep you in line after all."

Mallaer's fear and revulsion must have been starkly drawn on his face, for he understood exactly what the orcs was implying they had done to Eleni. Eleni had trained and grown up with Nar-rhîw, Mallaer's brother, and her daughter Nímloth had grown up with Mallaer, and was his best friend. Eleni had been like a mother to Mallaer, who had lost his own mother in an orc attack at a young age.

"If you touch her," he threatened, but his voice was weak, and the orcs laughed with derision.

"What can you do, little Elf?" the orc mocked, dragging Mallaer back to the campsite, his broken leg trailing in the dirt. The pain made him pass out, but all too soon he was jolted awake with a burning sensation in his raw throat. Orcs jeered, and another mocked him loudly, "Can't take his medicine!"

Mallaer stared at the ruined form of his de facto mother, lying in the dirt, covered in red and black gore. "No!" he gasped, as his heart felt torn from his very chest.

"We move on!" the orc captain yelled harshly, and two orcs picked Eleni's still form up, carrying her by the shoulders and ankles in a manner unlike any an Elf would use to transport an injured warrior.

Mallaer cried quietly, the pain from his leg and his heart too much to bear. The trees were useless even at a short distance, unable to offer comfort or to even deliver a message unless he could find one with a good heart still connected by the root network of good trees, and physically touch it to communicate. Too many trees in this area had turned their hearts black for Mallaer to be able to use them for anything.

Suddenly, he was flying through the air, and orcs jeered at him. He stopped suddenly at a sticky, elastic wall, which he realised was a giant spider's web. Sticky strands held him in the air, and when he tried to move his head, he realised his hair was caught, restricting him to only moving his eyes without pain.

"A little token for your friends," the orc captain jeered, before raising his scimitar.

There was nothing Mallaer could do, caught as he was. The blade came down on the side he could see, and bit deep into his neck and chest, cracking bones as it went. A great burst of blood exploded from his chest when the blade cut his heart, and Mallaer knew no more, after the great red spray filled his vision, and pain caused him to black out, a moment before his fëa left his body forever.

Eleni

**Warning: graphic and/or disturbing content. Do not continue reading if you are under 18. Not appropriate for pregnant women. Contains OC death, torture of a pregnant woman, stillbirth and torment. **

Eleni knew pain intimately. She had given birth to a beautiful daughter, and though none had yet been told, she was pregnant once more, and she was prepared for the pain that would come with the birth of her son.

Eleni had served in the Northern Excursions patrol since she had first passed her Trials, with many loyal comrades by her side. When their original Captain had been slain, she had stepped up, and during her time running the regular patrol to the plains and mountains in the north she had collected an impressive array of wounds, some of which still left scars on her body.

This pain, though, was a hundred times worse than anything she had felt before. It was a pain deep in her heart, tearing at her fëa, and threatening to drive her mad with grief.

"She-elves are good for one thing," the orc captain jeered at her, while two others held her upright. Her sword and knives were long gone, dropped along the way by the orcs, who had immensely enjoyed the look on her face as they had broken her weapons, and left them behind 'as a message' for the Elves.

"Let's get her warmed up," the orc captain announced, earning a horrible cheering from the orc who had gathered into a circle around Eleni. Beyond the distracted orcs, Eleni could see Mallaer, with a black poultice where his eye had once been, and she called desperately to the elf she considered a son, "_run!" _He did not hear her, though, for her voice was swallowed by the jerring orcs who surrounded her.

She lost all thoughts of the ellon she had raised alongside her daughter, when the first blow landed. Bruises blushed on her cheek and her abdomen, and soon the skin was broken, as the orcs continued to beat her.

Eleni might have been able to cope with the pain, if she had not felt the life within her grow still. The tiny spark, so small that not even his own father could sense him yet, faltered and went out, and with it went Eleni's hopes, her dreams, and her sanity.

The orcs continued pounding, until the captain commanded them to stop. "Well, well, well," he leered. "What do we have here?"

Blood was starting to pour down her thighs, but this blood was not from the surface cuts the orcs had left on her stomach. The captain ripped her leggings with a sharp swipe of his deformed paw, revealing the thick red blood which came from between her legs, now covered only by her short tunic.

"But Elves don't bleed each month," the orc said quietly, while the watching orcs hushed. "Which means this ain't no elf, or this elf was carrying a baby in there. Don't those ears look Elvish?" the orcs roared with glee, and the orc captain came closer to Eleni's face, the stink of his foul breath threatening to make her throw up.

She breathed deeply, attempting to quell the nausea, and succeeded, if only partially. "Kill me," she challenged the orc, having no reason to cling to life any more.

"Oh, I don't think so," the captain argued. "I want to make you suffer, I will make _every_ elf suffer. I will not kill you. Yet," it added threateningly.

Eleni's abdomen was suddenly wreathed in pain, and the muscles which had been preparing to support the child turned instead to pumping to remove the now dead foetus from her womb. The blood trickled down her bare leg, and her face involuntarily screwed up in anguish.

"Oho! Lookee here," the orc captain jeered, reaching down and scraping its gnarled mitt up the inside of Eleni's thigh, causing her to throw up, the bile and the remains of her last meal only adding to the orc's filthy attire.

The orc stood, completely ignoring the fact that Eleni heaved for breath, and smiled cruelly.

"What do you think this might be?"

The question drew the gathered orcs' attention, silencing the jeering crowd. In his clawed paw was a tiny shape, red and bloody, barely the size of a hazelnut. The orc rolled it around in its palm, and Eleni cringed, fighting against those who held her still, suspended in the air. She shouted in every tongue she knew at the orc, cursing it ferociously.

The orc ignored her, looking dead into her eyes, and brought the remains of her unborn child up to his mouth.

With inhuman strength, Eleni ripped her arms free of the orcs, falling on the ground, knocking the orc captain over, who cursed in the Black Tongue when the tiny form of her stillborn foetus was lost in the dirt and leaves of the forest floor. With all the strength Eleni had in her she beat at the captain with her fists, until suddenly something smashed into her temple, and she knew no more.

When she awoke Mallaer was long dead, and they were only a day's march from Dol Guldor. The orc captain sneered as he told her that he had died while trying to escape. "Quite the little mother, eh?" the captain commented of her, as she dissolved into tears at the news.

"You killed my adopted son. You killed my unborn son. You will never touch my daughter," Eleni declared defiantly, her tears still upon her cheeks. The orcs jeered.

"Can you be so sure about that?" the captain said to her, coming close to her face, so that she struggled to pull away. She realised that she was bound, hand and foot, and her leather bodice had gone the way of her leggings, leaving her clad in only a tunic.

Blood had dried on her legs, and her abdomen and face were scabbed over and painful to move.

Salty tears ran into the cracks and crevices on her cheeks, making them burn.

_What did I do to deserve this?_ she wondered, but knew, deep in her heart, that she had simply been born an Elf, and that was her greatest crime, as far as these orcs were concerned.

She was forced to drink a burning brew the orcs called medicine, which burned all the way down her throat, and marks were left on her cheeks and neck where an orc had forced her mouth open. Wonderful, pain-free blackness enveloped her, as her throat swelled up, protesting the foreign substance.

No-one had ever been so glad for an allergic reaction as Eleni was, for as her throat swelled, her lungs strained for air, and her brain strained for oxygen. Eleni used her last breath to say, "You will have no more sport from me, monster."

She was thrown to the ground, where sharp thorns and rocks dug into her back, but she didn't care. Even if the orcs forced themselves on her, she would be dead, and her daughter was safe.

_Coirëglín,_ she thought before her consciousness faded away forever. _My Stirring Gleam. I will find you in Valimar, if it takes my whole afterlife. My son, Coirëglín._


End file.
